


Plans like Water (We are the River)

by Sathierhe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Goes AU during 2x15.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sathierhe/pseuds/Sathierhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wait!" the soldier cries, "I have an offer from our president!"<br/>Those words stay the dagger braced at his throat, though Ryder does not remove it.  Lexa plants her boot and jerks her sword from the back of the man beneath her.  A few quick steps carry her to Ryder and the Mountain Man soldier.  That the offer comes only now means that it is a last resort.  The Mountain's leader worries that they may die in their tunnels.  That is good.  Fear is leverage.  An offer made in fear can be forced into something greater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plans Change

**Author's Note:**

> Despite all expectations, I fell in love with the characters. 2x15 was a knife to my heart, a betrayal by The 100's writers. Lexa's choice was short-sighted and thus out-of-character for a brilliant, visionary character. This is my version of what *should* have happened when they got the Mountain's door opened.
> 
> Any feedback that can improve this story is feedback I want.

{1}

Plans Change

 

_"The mountain has cast a shadow over these woods for too long.  They've hunted us, controlled us, turned us into monsters.  That ends today._

_"Thanks to our alliance with the Sky People, the Mountain_ will _fall."_

 

Under the noise of gunfire the People are ghosts.  Her warriors wing out as Lexa races up the forested slope, violence in all their shadowed eyes.  Her stomach is a heavy stone, her heart is thunder in her ears.  The Mountain _must_ fall.  They find positions uphill from the snipers.  Lexa raises her sword, watches for squad leaders to mirror her.  The snipers still fire down at their gathered army.  The screams are louder.  Warriors die in the moment it takes for her squad to align.  Clarke could be one of them.  No, she tells herself, be swift and precise, clear-minded.  Not weak.  

Then they are ready.

Her arm drops in a cutting motion, steel glinting by the light of the gibbous moon.  A breath later she is charging, sword leveled as a spear.  She makes no war cry.  Her people are silent as their blades thrust into snipers' backs or bite into necks.  Not all the Mountain Men wear their strange suites; they have taken blood marrow of the Hundred.  Even unhindered, their rifles are of little use at close range.  Several draw smaller weapons.  Each dies in the act.  Of the Mountain Men who survive the initial assault, only one is wise enough to surrender.

"Wait!" the soldier cries, "I have an offer from our president!"

Those words stay the dagger braced at his throat, though Ryder does not remove it.  Lexa plants her boot and jerks her sword from the back of the man beneath her.  A few quick steps carry her to Ryder and the Mountain Man soldier.  That the offer comes only now means that it is a last resort.  The Mountain's leader worries that they may die in their tunnels.  That is good.  Fear is leverage.  An offer made in fear can be forced into something greater.

She looms over the soldier, her sword dripping his comrade's blood on the forest soil.  In the distance, she hears more gunfire.  An explosion, then another, much louder.  Raven com Skaikru has succeeded.  Satisfaction fills her.  The Mountain's door will open.  Though shadows obscure his face, she sees the soldier flinch and knows that he understands.  _Still..._   She crouches close to study his face, his pale skin under dark hair.  Recognition flares in his eyes.  Even in this dark, he knows who she is on sight.  She commands, "Speak your offer."

"We have your people, Princess.  We have the Ark's people.  We'll kill every one of them.  _Or_..."  A smirk enters his voice, he believes she will accept.  "Or we keep the Ark people, but we give yours back.  You take them, and your army, and you all _leave_.  Do that, keep your people away from Mount Weather, and you'll have _peace_."

Her mind spins.  Her thoughts race on wings of rage and hope.  Peace, he says.  _Peace_.  No more reapers.  No fear of the Mountain.  Her people freed.  The twelve clans, safe.  Unified.  Perhaps they might gain an alliance with the Mountain.  Strength to the Mountain Men's knowledge, long forgotten by the People.

And yet...  And yet there is the _price_.  A breach of honor that may demand her death no matter the outcome.  Betrayal of the Skaikru and of Clarke's Hundred.  Betrayal of Clarke.  Lexa will not be weak.  She cannot allow herself to consider the risk to her heart, that she may shatter for loss of the first golden light to wake inside her since she looked upon Costia's mutilated head in a sack.  Clarke is stronger than she knows.  She is cunning and resourceful in desperation.  The Skaikru's Commander spirit wakes within her.  If Lexa agrees and does not stop her, Clarke may raze the Mountain to save her Hundred.  She may succeed where all others have failed.  And in success, the Skaikru would see Lexa's betrayal as the Twelve Clans' betrayal.  War would come again. 

Even if the Skaikru fall and the Mountain wins, the Mountain Men are as cruel and as ruthless as Lexa has ever been.  More so, if they would commit atrocities to gain the surface.  Lexa remembers the truths in her dreams -- the lives of past Commanders -- as well as those spoken by her many mentors.  She has learned, too, from the histories at the great Library of Polis.  In the Before, fear or greed inevitably led nations to war, and that, she has seen, is how the Mountain Men think.  If she accepts this offer, then no matter if Skaikru or Mountain wins, it will mean a future war.  More missiles.  In ten years or one, the People would face the combined strength of Mountain weapons and Skaikru freedom to live on the surface. 

Or break the mountain today, in alliance with the Skaikru, with Clarke their Commander, and draw upon their unified strength to protect all their peoples. 

War is calculated risk.  Her choice is clear. 

Below, she hears war cries, grunts of effort, orders to pull together.  The Skaikru and People have roped the door.  Lexa tells the soldier, "I will speak to your President."

The soldier tentatively indicates the wire that extends from the side of his helmet to his cheek, "He's listening."

"Good."  At a nod Ryder slits the chin strap, rips off the soldier's helmet.  Ryder holds it up.  She sets it over her head.  It reeks of fear-sweat.  A man's tense breaths whisper in her ears.  She nods significantly, speaking as Ryder's blade frees the soldier's spirit for his next life.  "Clarke sent one of your men with a message, President.  I say it again: We will not stop until _all_ of our people are free."

"You stupid, Amazon wh-"

"Free our people or condemn yours!"  She throws off the helmet. _Branwada fool!_   President will force them to kill all the Mountain people.

So be it.  None of them are innocent. 

A groan of ancient hinges makes the air vibrate.  Her warriors hear and look to her.  "Wih ai!" she calls, _With me_ , and races down the hill to the door, and Clarke.  


	2. Breaking and Entering

"Train your fire on the door," Clarke orders, voice rough with the dryness of her throat. Muddy sweat coats her palms. They'll be waiting. At least half the soldiers in Mount Weather, she expects. She hopes. If they're wrong about the magnetic locks... If the door doesn't open... If. If. How does Lexa do this, day after day after day? Clarke's bones thrum with tension. What if they have weapons inside worse than guns? In a minute she may be dead. All this will be for nothing.

"Pull!" Lincoln shouts, catching one of the ropes hooked to the massive steel door. "Pull!" he chants with the other Grounders, "Again! Pull!"

Other men add their strength. The ropes lift and go taunt. The door groans. Clarke hears a hiss of air, nearly lost under chants of "Pull! Pull!" The door trembles, groans again with a sound like distant thunder, more felt than heard. Shadows widen at the seam and cheers rises around Clarke. She can't join in; her chest is too tight. She raises her pistol. Sights on the yawning gap. Others follow her lead.

"Open it _wide_!" a woman screams, and there is Lexa, dark braids and armored black coat streaking out like smoke, warriors trailing in her wake. "Pull it open and stand ready!" She jogs to Clarke's side. Dark liquid drips from her sword. Lexa's pale green eyes appear almost black in her war paint, pupils blown wide in the torchlight. The grin she gives Clarke is fierce and savage. Wild in a way that makes Clarke's bones tremble with a different tension.

Clarke swallows it down. Reminds herself to breathe, and air shudders past her lips.

She hears a _zip_ , a gust of wind at her neck. Before she understands, Lexa has lunged and tackled her to the rocky ground. Lexa's body is warm, her breath warmer. Her warrior eyes burn with something that is definitely _not_ a lack of caring. The moon and stars shine down from behind her. Passing bullets zip past, some sparking the top of the boulder they lay behind.

"Careful, Clarke," Lexa hisses, "you must _not_ die this day."

The rapid _pop-pop-pop_ of automatic gunfire sinks in. Shouting. Pained cries. Clarke blinks. None of the gunfire is coming from their people. It's all from the direction of the door. Why isn't anyone firing at the soldiers inside the Mountain?

Lexa pushes to hands and knees, crawling to peer around the boulder. Her body tenses.

Clarke inches up beside her. The giant door gapes wide. Flashlights shine out, backlighting several score of terrified teens and young adults, each in nothing more than rudimentary underwear. Gunfire flashes between them.

Her throat goes dry. Her skin tingles. This can't be right. Even the Mountain people wouldn't do such a thing.

The tunnel lights flicker on. Mount Weather's backup generator is on-line. The added illumination erases all doubt. Her blood chills. None of their faces are familiar. They're using the captive Grounders as human shields.

Lexa turns with eyes hard as diamonds. "We must use your 'Plan B'."

Mutely, Clarke nods, though Lexa is already shouting orders in the Grounder language, slurred syllables too quick to catch. They'll have to fight their way to the control room on Level 5 or life support on Level 4. Threaten to irradiate the mountain unless they free the surviving Forty-Six. What happened to Bellamy? Did Octavia get inside? Are any of her friends still alive?

Clarke peeks at the tunnel, at the wall of hostages. Each stands rigid against the noise and flashes of bullets fired over their shoulders. Some are too terrified to blink. Others have their eyelids tightly shut. No one has so much as launched an arrow at the Hazmat-suited men behind them.

Lexa inhales deeply, and screams "DAUN!" then "Zog em!"

Within the tunnel, captive Grounders go limp and drop to the concrete floor. Clutching hands drag down those too frozen to react to the command. An instant later the gathered force of Lexa's army opens fire. Arrows arc over prone hostages and into the now-exposed soldiers. Ark personnel join in, sniping with rifles. The first rank of gray bubble suits collapses almost instantly. The rest retreat down the tunnel.

The Grounder army surges forward. Each warrior competes to be first into the Mountain. The frontrunners rip off gray hoods and hack at soldiers' necks. Mountain Man blood fountains almost to the high ceiling. Clarke's stomach lurches.

"Hold!" Lexa yells, charging to the front. "Secure the door! Protect our people!"

Warriors race to obey. A dozen large, bearded men lift a massive boulder and crab-walk it to the tunnel opening, placing it so the door cannot be closed. Others carry the hostages outside, to freedom. Two droop bonelessly in their rescuers' arms, one a boy with an arrow jutting from his back, the second a woman with the gray skin of blood loss. Clarke's heart pounds. That woman had been strong enough to stand a moment ago. She runs to try and save her life. To save _someone_.

Lexa catches her arm, yanks her aside. "I need you with me." Her tone makes it a command.

Clarke bristles, "I can help the wounded."

Pale green eyes soften fractionally, quartz instead of diamond. "You do honor to both our peoples, but you must _lead_. You know this place, and time is short."

Her hands clench. The pistol's cross-hatched grip feels like needles under her right palm. Behind her eyelids are fires billowing in the night, a woman holding her severed arm, a horse trailing flames. Bodies. So many bodies. The Ground is death, and war, and it isn't over yet. "Alright."

"Together we will break this Mountain."

At Clarke's nod, Lexa begins shouting orders in English and Trigedasleng, gathering veteran warriors and Ark soldiers. Scouts slink forward, moving at the limits of flashlights and torch fire. The front rank wield blocky steel shields, each probably heavier than Clarke could lift, but unnecessary. They reach the airlock to Level 1 without opposition. It's closed, of course, but they expected that. Twenty men bring a thick tree trunk, roped to branches across their shoulders. They step back, lunge forward with the ram. The metal rings like thunder and the noise echoes up the tunnel. Clarke presses palms to her ears, skull throbbing, sees Lexa and others doing the same. Air whistles from the seam of the airlock door. Another thud caves in the shallow dome and bends the metal fittings. Bits of concrete sprinkle down. Everyone who can reach the ram joins in. Two Ark soldiers push past Clarke to position themselves by the door, each with a pair of pipe bombs and a lighter. On the next impact, the latches pull free and the door vibrates open.

Gunfire zips and plinks out from the gap in the moment before they push it almost shut again, and the two soldiers toss their pipe bombs through the opening. Clarke hears shouting from the other side, panicked voices. The ram becomes a brace to hold the door shut as the bombs go off. Even so, the pressure wave hits Clarke like the river rushing up after leaping from the dam. She staggers. Blinks until her eyes can focus again. A warm hand grips hers. Steadies her and lets go. Lexa mouths nonsense that resolves into words of concern. Her face is tight. Clarke shakes it off, looks to the warriors and yells "Go, _now_! While they're stunned."

The airlock is a blasted ruin. The inner door stands wide open. Grounders and Ark soldiers charge through, along with their toxic air. She and Lexa follow. Hazmat-suited men lay strewn along the hall. Masks yanked off, slack faces already blistering, their suits leak crimson from wounds by angry Grounder blades. Lexa ignores the bodies. She orders her troops down each open hallway, stations groups at each corner. No one challenges them.

They've breached the Mountain.

Clarke breathes the mix of filtered and poisoned air with a tight chest and pounding heart. Her lips thin. This doesn't feel like a victory, and it isn't defeat, not by a long shot. It feels like failure, maybe, like things should never have gone this far. But they have. Her gaze drifts to a small black dome on the ceiling, cracks across its surface. Another dome, further from the airlock, looks intact. President Wallace -- Dante or Cage, she doesn't care -- will be watching them.

Hesitantly, she lifts one of the Hazmat hoods. The inside looks a lot like a vac suit, tiny speakers at the ears and a microphone port at the chin. She puts it on, turns to the intact camera dome.

A man's voice speaks into her ears, "You've got exactly one minute to get your savages out of my Mountain before we gas you all."

Laughter bubbles up from her chest, light as the Helium she'd once inhaled at a birthday party with Raven. Her voice should be squeaky now, comic. She giggles and those around her look askance. One of them is Lexa. Her eyes are rich with understanding.

Clarke shuts her eyes, blocks them out. "You're bluffing, Cage. You would have done that already if you could."

"True. But consider this. We caught got the two you sent into the dam. The girl is quite pretty, I hear. Retreat now or I'll have them both executed."

_Raven, shit, they caught Raven and Wick._ Retreat, though, and they'll die anyway. Her voice comes out steady, "I'm not going to stop until all of my people are free."

"I can't allow that, Blondie."

"Yes you can. It doesn't have to be this way. Your people don't have to die."

"They won't. Not anymore."

That's it, then. She has exactly one option left. "They will.

She tears off the hood, glaring at it for a moment before turning to Lexa. "I'm going to the Control Center like we planned."

"And then?" Lexa asks, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

_Can I do this?_ Am _I bluffing?_ She doesn't know, but a part of her is screaming _Please, no, don't do this,_ but it's tired, it's weak _._ It's been screaming since she watched her father blasted out the airlock. Screaming though that year trapped in a tiny cell, no human touch but guards fists. A year dreaming of wonders on the surface only to wake in terror that they'd float her, too, when she turned eighteen. Then the ground, this harsh, glorious reality of leaves and soil and sky and rain. The Grounders. War. A ring of fire at her command, the burnt skeletons scent of hundreds of bodies, and the Mountain Men's knockout gas. Another tiny, bright cell, and pretty lies to steal their blood. The devastation of TonDC. At every step she's done what was necessary.

Clarke mutes that mental scream, answering "And then I end this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Maya.


End file.
